


all i really wanna do is love you (a kind much closer than friends use)

by kay_emm_gee



Series: red strings and wordless looks (teen wolf prompts) [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, High School, Jealousy, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles could say he and Lydia knew each other since they were in diapers, except for the fact that he never had kept his diaper on, ever, or so his father liked to recount around anybody Stiles remotely wanted to impress. Still, the point remained: Lydia had been his first friend and the one he had had the longest, even longer than Scott.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>Except, as junior year hit the halfway mark, they weren’t friends anymore–or at least, Stiles wasn’t friends with her. Because right around the time he figured out that his pulse jumping at her smile, his need to make her laugh constantly and the heat pooling very low in him whenever he saw a glimpse of hidden skin weren’t things that fell under ‘just friends’, Lydia started dating Aiden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i really wanna do is love you (a kind much closer than friends use)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on these prompts: "are you willing to do a stydia AU? if -yes, can you do a best friends since diapers, oh wait were older now and im super jealous of your new boy/girl friend?? thanks, I love you!!" + "prompt: Stiles and Lydia wash the jeep featuring Lydia in cutoffs and one of Stiles’ flannel shirts"
> 
> Title from If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz

Stiles could say he and Lydia knew each other since they were in diapers, except for the fact that he never had kept his diaper on, ever, or so his father liked to recount around anybody Stiles remotely wanted to impress. Still, the point remained: Lydia had been his first friend and the one he had had the longest, even longer than Scott.

She and Stiles clashed from day one, having apparent crying competitions when they were babies, to tugging on the same blanket stubbornly when they were toddlers, to pushing each other off the swing when they were old enough to walk to the park across the street from Lydia’s house. The two of them fought over everything–toys, friends, words–except when someone else wanted to fight one of them, then they were each other’s best champions. They shared nothing with each other easily except secrets, which were whispered on playground jungle gyms and under sleeping bags at sleepovers, and then later over classroom desks and bleachers after lacrosse practice.

* * *

Except, as junior year hit the halfway mark, they weren’t friends anymore–or at least, Stiles wasn’t friends with her. Because right around the time he figured out that his pulse jumping at her smile, his need to make her laugh constantly and the heat pooling _very_ low in him whenever he saw a glimpse of hidden skin weren’t things that fell under ‘just friends’, Lydia started dating Aiden. Officially he was in their grade, except this was his second time being a junior. Lydia was always quick to point out that she liked the maturity of dating someone older, and Stiles was equally quick to point out he was older than them because he had _failed a whole year._

So because he was a selfish asshole who had maybe missed his chance, he trash-talked her boyfriend, and because she was his best friend, she just rolled her eyes, chalking it up to his usual dramatics regarding change. Eventually, though, Lydia started seeing more and more of Aiden, and Stiles saw less and less of her, and that’s when his annoyance turned to dislike that even bordered on hate for the guy she was dating, the guy that wasn’t _him_.

Two months into her new relationship, Lydia broke their years-long tradition of riding home from school together, and that’s when the gnawing pit in Stiles’ stomach began to turn into a raging green-eyed monster.

“So you don’t need a ride home,” Stiles said, frowning down at a fidgety Lydia.

“I have–plans.”

“You mean you have a corner of the library reserved to suck face with Tweedle Dum. I wonder if Danny and Tweedle Dee have the other corner booked.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at his nickname for the twins. “Really. Suck face? Are you twelve?”

“So maybe I act twelve. At least my math skills aren’t like a twelve-year-old’s.”

Lydia scowled at him. “Don’t be a dick. I’ve tutored you plenty of times too.”

“But I’ve never had to repeat freshman algebra twice,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t know why you’re dating an idiot.”

She smacked his shoulder, looking more hurt than usual. “Seriously, dick, lay off. He is smart, okay? Just not all of us are equally exceptionally talented.” She paused, cocking her head. “Except me.”

Even as pissed as he felt, Stiles couldn’t hold back his smile at the typical confidence–not arrogance–that was so very Lydia. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the light of everyone’s life in Beacon Hills. Old news.”

She raised an eyebrow smugly at him before pressing her hand to her mouth for a kiss that she transferred with a light slap onto his cheek. It shocked the nasty feelings towards Aiden right out of him, and he froze at the sudden skin-to-skin contact.

“I’ll let you play your whiny emo indie music the whole way home tomorrow as consolation for today!” she called over her shoulder as she strode down the hall.

“I’d do that anyways!” he yelled back, then caught on and hurriedly added, “And it’s not emo! Or whiny!”

She laughed brightly, the sound echoing in his ears long after her red hair and ruffled skirt had disappeared around the corner. Stiles tried to breathe deeply, attempting to not feel so annoyed at the thought of climbing into his Jeep and driving home alone, but it was as if there was a band around his chest that pulled tightly every time he tried to inhale. It was so constricting, and his irritation grew, especially when his right cheek still felt warm from where Lydia had pressed her kissed hand.

After shoving the last of his books in his bag, he slammed his locker shut and paced down the hall, fingers tapping furiously on his shoulder straps. It felt so wrong, walking out of the school without his best friend. With a sinking feeling, he realized this would probably become the norm soon enough, and he the bitterness festering in his gut took deeper root with every step he took without Lydia by his side.

* * *

Three months into the relationship, the only time he saw Lydia was in class. Even then, she just shot him a quick smile and _how’s it going_ before turning back to her phone, manicured nails clicking away as she texted Aiden.

Because he was a petty son of a bitch, he started coming into the room with his own phone in hand, not even looking for her flash of a smile– _served her right_. Stiles would grunt in response when she greeted him, but soon enough, those greetings stopped coming. Instead, she no longer looked up at all when he fell into the desk next to her, though Lydia certainly did a double-take when he started sitting two seats over, a whole row between them now. Honestly, there was just so much between them: a row, a hallway, a whole other person. Aiden was always at her side now, or rather, Lydia was always at his. Stiles couldn’t look at them at school, after lacrosse games, or in the parking lot as she climbed on the back of his bike. Every time he did force himself to look, he felt like he was going to throw up, or punch something (more likely someone, and even more likely, Aiden in particular).

He didn’t see red, though, until he walked into the locker room very late after practice–Coach had made him stay for extra laps _and_ stick drills for being late, and then mouthing off about it–and found them half-naked and making out. Aiden had her pinned up against the shower wall, both of them soaked from the spray and stripped down to their underwear. When Stiles made a strangled noise at seeing them, Lydia shrieked and Aiden scowled over his shoulder.

“A little privacy, man?” he barked, trying to shield Lydia from his view.

Stiles couldn’t move though, rooted to the spot. He could still see the red marks from where Lydia’s nails had raked down Aiden’s back, and the guy’s leg was still pressed very tightly in between her parted thighs.

“Classy,” Stiles sneered. “Maybe I should take a picture for the yearbook.”

Aiden growled, but Stiles was already turning around, storming through the hallway still in his sweaty uniform. He wore it all the way home, in his car that no longer smelled like Lydia’s perfume, even flopped down on his bed with it still on, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t keep seeing the image of him and her together. Stiles kept on seeing it though, tinted in brilliant red, the same shade as Lydia’s hair.

* * *

She was waiting for him in the parking lot the next morning, right in the middle of his usual spot, wearing a blue dress that always made his throat grow dry. Lydia backed up to let him pull in, arms folded over her front defensively. He swallowed tightly as he grabbed his bag, determined not to let the dress or her hurt expression get to him. No amount of sleep could erase that image from yesterday, or the bubbling sting of envy that taunted _it should’ve been you instead._ He was being a dick, he knew that, but he couldn’t conceal the jealousy any longer.

Stiles heard her huff in annoyance and anger as he got out and walked away from her without a word.

“Seriously?” she shouted from behind. “You were an _asshole_ yesterday, and now you’re just ignoring me?”

His shoulders tensed, and he was too pissed to answer because yeah, okay– _he_ was the one ignoring _her._ Right.

“What is your problem?” she hissed, cutting in front of him. He stopped short and hated how close they were. Even brow pinched, eyes flashing, and mouth twisted in fury, his skin still warmed and prickled with awareness of her proximity. “I know you don’t like Aiden–”

“Hate. I hate Aiden,” he spat out, and she flinched away.

“Why are you being like this?” she said faintly. “Why are you being–”

“Honest?” he interrupted. “Because Aiden is–”

“What? Come on, tell me what Aiden is,” she challenged hotly, cheeks flushing a patchy, blotchy red.

Stiles was going to say _idiot_ or _moron_ or if he really wanted to slap his heart right on his sleeve, _he’s not good enough for you._ Instead, the confused, ignorant hurt in Lydia’s eyes made him even more resentful, and so he responded in a biting tone, “You know what? Actually Aiden is _exactly_ who you should be with. He’s as self-involved as you are, so you two are perfect for each other, really.”

 _Too oblivious to see the plain truth that is right in front of you_ , he thought bitterly as he pushed past her, ignoring the flash of shock and indignation on her face. No clicking footsteps followed him, and when he got to the doors, he finally glanced back. Lydia was still standing there, bag on her shoulder, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the ground, hands pressed into her eyes, as if she was trying to stop herself from crying.

Stiles held his breath, nearly choking on the regret welling up in him. He was supposed to be her best friend, even when she wasn’t his, but his rash words had finally smashed that bond to pieces. For a second he considered running back to her. When he looked again, though, there as Aiden, hand on her back and looking ticked off. So Stiles exhaled loudly and just continued inside, feeling even worse than he had before.

* * *

Another month went by, and every day he wished he could take his words back even more. It was hard enough missing her when he hated her boyfriend, but it was infinitely harder when she was the one hating him. Lacrosse games were the toughest. He would be running down the field, scanning for the ball or the player carrying it, and a flash of red would catch his eye. Too long it would catch, and then he’d see Lydia very pointedly looking at Aiden and not the game. Coach had reamed him out for his lack of focus with increasing frequency, but still, Stiles couldn’t look away each time not matter how hard he tried. Lydia used to come to the games for him, with her obnoxious signs spelling out his name and number in glitter and her high-pitched whistles of encouragement that sent a pleasant chill down his spine. And now–now she wasn’t even _looking_ at him.

He went to parties with Scott–not ones that she would be at–and played video games on the weekends to fill his now abundant spare time. He went for more runs, stayed longer after lacrosse practice, even holed up in the library study rooms some nights just to keep his mind occupied. There was far too much time in the day where his thoughts would drift to Lydia, and what they used to be, what they could have been, and what they were–or were not, really–now.

 _What if you just apologized?_ Scott had asked more than once, in his usual tone of kind exasperation. Of course it would seem like the simplest solution to his other best friend–his only one now, apparently. It wasn’t simple, though. People like Scott were forgiven; people like him, especially when it came to Lydia, just didn’t get that kind of absolution.

The next time he made the suggestion, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore, and he burst out, “She’s the one who–”

“Started dating someone else,” Scott said slowly. “While you were in love with her, and may I mention, were also too scared to tell her, so she had–and still has–no idea.”

The reproach in his voice was enough to make Stiles fall silent, sulking at the harsh reality of the situation. “Yeah, that’s about the situation alright.”

“Dude,” Scott breathed tiredly.

“I know.”

“You should just–”

“ _I know._ ”

“Alright. Good talk.”

* * *

Stiles was going to apologize, really he was. He had a whole speech planned, and a promise to tolerate Aiden, even if just the thought of speaking that out loud made him want to body-check someone (specifically Aiden). He needed Lydia back as his best friend, and if this was the only way to get her back–if this was the only way he could ever have her–he would do it.

She came to him first, though, red-eyed and wearing sweats she never left the house in. As she sniffled on his doorstep, hair falling even more messily out of the haphazard bun on the top of her head, Stiles couldn’t even begin to imagine what had brought her to his house at midnight after all these cold-shouldered weeks.

“Can I come–” A hiccup cut off her request, but he moved aside, ushering her in anyways.

She was standing back-to when he turned from shutting the door. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and she looked utterly small standing in his kitchen.

“Lydia?”

A sob wrenched out of her, and she hunched over. Immediately he went to her side, hands hovering hesitantly. Without missing a beat, though, she fell into his side, crying in earnest. Like a reflex, his arms embraced her tightly, squeezing harder when her frame began to shake.

He knew what had happened, but when she finally raised her head and stared at him with wary, watery eyes, he let her say the words anyways.

“Aiden broke up with me.”

“Total dick,” he muttered as he pulled her closer. Her frame shook again, but this time it was with a small laugh. “I knew it.”

“Why do you think I came to you?” she teased weakly in an unsteady, muffled voice.

Stiles paused, wondering if the words waiting on his tongue were still true enough to matter. As she nestled closer to him, though, he knew he had to say it. “Because I’m your best friend.”

She seemed to soften at that, feeling more fluid than tense against his side. Tipping her head up once more, she gave him a soft smile. “Yeah. You are.”

They stood for a minute longer in the kitchen, and then he walked her up to his room. Without speaking, they crawled into bed together, limbs tangled up in the sheets and each other, just like they had dozens of times before.

They were best friends after all, and as Stiles pulled her closer, his heart squeezed in contentment, finally settled with the concept that this version of Lydia–best-friend Lydia–was entirely enough for him and would be, no matter how much a part of him wanted more.

He began his apology, meaning it more now than ever, because she was his best friend, and she had fallen for someone other than him, and it had broken her heart. The thought that she might not have come to him, after he had pushed her away, was unthinkable, and he felt very lucky to have Lydia next to him now.

“I’ll go talk to him. Make him un-break up with you. Scott and I will have it fixed in no time.”

She laughed, more steady this time. “Thanks for the offer, but he was pretty clear in his decision.”

“We can change his mind.”

“Scott might be able to take him, if Ethan is distracted. You, though, he’ll squash you in a second.”

“I’m deeply offended.”

“I’m just looking out for you and your delicate features.”

After a pointed scoff at the last bit, Stiles paused, looking down at her. “And I’m looking out for you. Seriously: do you want me to talk to him?”

She worried her lip, and he held his breath as she decided. Finally, she sighed in defeat. “I think I just need to let it go. I don’t know if–we just–I need to let it go.”

He hummed reassuringly, letting her break eye contact to rest her head against his chest again.

“I’m really sorry. About Aiden. And me. And global warming, but I can’t promise to do anything effective about the last one,” he quipped.

“Shut up,” Lydia whispered, and his pulse stuttered when he saw her finally smile. It was small, but it was a smile, and he counted that as a win for now.

* * *

It wasn’t that difficult walking down the hallways and passing Aiden without punching him. (Alright, it might have been a little difficult, and his fist did ball up whenever they made eye contact.) Lydia had been adamant, though, that to get over him, she just wanted to forget him, and that meant Stiles had to forget him too. So he did–and maybe he also banged Aiden up a little during lacrosse practice, but no one would really know it was on purpose.

(Of course Scott noticed but just rolled his eyes and stuck up for him when Coach tried to call him out for playing too rough).

Finally school let out for the summer, and he and Lydia got tremendously drunk at her end-of-year party, climbing up onto the roof as the last of the guests filtered out. She giggled as he made up names for the constellations, blushing pink when they got a little dirty. Stiles didn’t know how the quiet descended upon them, but he had stopped talking at some point, and she hadn’t picked up the slack. Although neither of them were falling asleep, when her hand slipped down to his, twining their fingers together, it startled him. Lydia squeezed his palm reassuringly, then turned her head to face him.

“You’re my best friend, you know that, right?” she whispered, voice rough from the punch and the lateness of the hour. “You’re my best friend. Always.”

Throat too thick to answer, he nodded and a wave of heat rolled through him at the brilliant smile she flashed at him in response. Stiles had to look away eventually, the dimness of the stars and the soft light of the moon a welcome reprieve from the blinding light of Lydia’s joy and of her promise.

* * *

“Lydia, it’s July.”

“I know.”

“We’re going outside, in the heat, to wash my car.”

“I know.”

“It’s _hot_ and we’re going to get _wet_ and you’re wearing my flannel.”

“And?”

“July. Hot. Flannel. Which of these things doesn’t belong?”

She scoffed, unbuttoned the bottom half, and then tied it up right at the base of her ribcage. “Better?”

Stiles was staring at her exposed stomach, which was frankly a lot to deal with on top of sheer amount of leg he was seeing below her very short jean cutoffs. So he had to blink a few times before he responded, “Uh, yeah.”

She smirked as she walked past him, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt. Not that he didn’t enjoy– _really_ enjoy–Lydia wearing his flannel, he still didn’t understand why she was wearing it this afternoon, when it was sweltering out and they were going to cool off by washing his car. Stiles continued to argue this point as they collected the buckets, sponges and soap, and she argued back as they walked out to his driveway.

“I forgot to bring a change of clothes, it was the first thing I grabbed from your closet, and besides it’s comfortable. Just go get the hose,” she finished, waving him off. “Before I go get it and spray you with it to shut you up.”

Shaking his head in exasperation, he obliged, and when he returned, Lydia was squeezing copious amounts of soap into the buckets. For a second he considered spritzing her with the hose, just to hear her shocked shriek, but she snapped her gaze up to his knowingly.

“Do not,” she said through gritted teeth. “Or I will leave you to wash this hunk of junk by yourself.”

“Shh, baby, she didn’t mean it,” he cooed dramatically at the Jeep, drawing a scoffing laugh from Lydia.

Stiles grinned at her, then began hosing off the car. They worked in easy tandem, passing buckets and sponges and the hose between them without needing many words. After they had scrubbed nearly every inch of it, Lydia began rinsing it off. Stiles watched as she moved her thumb over the opening to create a fan of water that would reach the roof. He looked down for a second to check for remaining suds and then suddenly was hit with a faceful of water. Sputtering, he blinked to clear his eyes before glaring at a stunned Lydia.

“Accident, total accident,” she stuttered, but it turned into a choking laugh as he coughed out some more water.

“Accident my ass,” he muttered as he rounded the front of the car.

“No, no don’t!” she protested, still laughing, as he advanced on her with a determined grin. “I said it was an–”

Her last word pitched up into a shriek as he wrestled for control of the hose, which effectively got them both drenched. Stiles finally gained control of it, and then he doused her thoroughly. Lydia screamed and laughed as she raised her hands to ward off the spray, threatening swift and cruel retribution even as she her mouth split into a giddy smile.

“You’re an ass,” she said with another laugh as he finally dropped the hose at their feet.

“Yeah, maybe a little.” He grinned down at her, resting his hands on the car hood behind her. Mascara was running down under her eyes a bit, and without thinking, he reached up to wipe it away with his thumb. The first brush was quick, perfunctory, but when her breath hitched underneath his touch, he paused. Her curious eyes caught his, and so he swiped his thumb there again, slower this time, registering the softness of her skin under his pad. Her breath came quicker, lighter as he continued to trail his thumb over her wet cheekbone, then down to her jaw, finally wiping a few drips from her chin.

Then he let his hand cup the bottom of her jaw, and Lydia leaned into him, up to him, until her shining lips brushed against his. Her mouth was cold as it moved under his, responding to the pressure of his lips and finally opening when he ran his tongue against the seam of hers. Soon enough Stiles was pressing her against the Jeep, hands tangling in her wet hair, her fingers twisting into his soaked shirt. The wetness clinging to him soon turned warm, humid almost, because she stirred up a hell of a heat in him, pressed as close as she was. He tried to keep it slow, because this was his _best friend_ , but when her hands crept underneath the hem of his shirt, he felt his control slipping.

With a groan, he broke away, breathing heavily as he looked down at her.

“Stiles?” she questioned, cocking her head at him. “You alright there?”

“Uh–” he paused, trying to decipher her carefully neutral expression. “Uh, no. Not really.”

A crease formed on her forehead, and he hurried to explain. “It’s just–I never thought this would happen, you know?”

Her voice took on a hurt tone. “You never–”

“No, I definitely did think of this,” he interrupted hastily, stroking away a tangle of hair from her face. “I promise you I have most certainly, one-hundred percent, thought about this. About us. A lot. Most of the time I’m thinking about it, actually. Not in a gross stalker I’m-obsessed-with-you way, but yeah, it’s a lot of my brain space. And it usually involves less clothing, and more dryness and a bed–but that’s besides the point.”

She laughed a little at his rambling, and he was glad his nervousness was at least helping one of them. Taking a steadying breath, because he had more to say, he continued, “So yeah, I’ve thought about it. I just–I never imagined _you_ thought about it.”

Lydia bit her lip, as if debating. He squeezed her hip encouragingly, bracing to hear whatever she had to say.

“My thoughts have been new,” she said slowly. “But they’ve been frequent and I’m–sure.”

“Sure?”

“About this.” She nodded her head towards him. “Us.”

“Us?”

“I want to try.” She looked away, mouth twisting as her cheeks pinked.

“You want us to try…rock climbing? Surfing? One of those disgusting hot dogs from the pier that Scott swears are made of–”

The speed with which Lydia grabbed his face and crashed her mouth into his shocked Stiles, though it wasn’t into silence, because he couldn’t stop a moan escaping from the way Lydia was licking into him and rolling her hips in just the right way against his core.

“I want us to try dating each other, dumbass,” she said when she finally pulled back, leaving him breathless in more ways than one yet again.

“Yeah. Yup, I can get on board with that,” he rambled out with a furious nod, making her laugh and knock her forehead against his collarbone affectionately.

“Then let’s take this upstairs where the whole neighborhood can’t see,” she whispered against his skin before kissing her way up his neck.

Stiles groaned again, then grabbed her hand and jerked her into a run towards the house. She laughed the entire way up to his room, and her smile was as big as his when the door finally shut.

“Will you take that damn flannel off now?” he asked as he shucked off her own shirt.

“Glady.” With a smirk, she untied and unbuttoned it, quickly letting it fall to the floor with a wet smack.

It was very possible that his jaw dropped even faster, because as much as he loved Lydia wearing his clothes, Stiles came to the conclusion that he might just like her _not_ wearing his clothes even more.

* * *

It was a blessing they had the whole afternoon and the house to themselves, and they took full advantage of it, learning each other in heart-racing, blush-inducing, moan-worthy ways. After the newness, though, came a familiar pattern: limbs tangled up in the sheets and each other, just this time with much more bare skin. This time, Lydia drew circles on his stomach, and Stiles pressed kisses to her hairline, her nose, her mouth.

Yet when his hand reached for hers and squeezed it in a way that was heavier and headier than ever before, she still smiled, brightly as ever, and whispered, “You’re my best friend. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://kay-emm-gee.tumblr.com)!


End file.
